


V for Vessel

by JU_Zumester



Series: Bulletproof!verse [2]
Category: V for Vendetta (2005)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon Fix-It, angst through the roof
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 19:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5978887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JU_Zumester/pseuds/JU_Zumester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She curls back into herself. Releases a string of curses. Pacing left and right, only to stop and turn back towards you, look you over, briefly confirming that yes, you are alive. That you have not disappeared in the few seconds she hadn’t been looking. Finally, she grinds to a halt. “...you’re alive.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	V for Vessel

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this took 500 years to write! A lot has been going on with me, and it's hard to work up the motivation to write when you're being torn in so many directions.
> 
> In any event, here's chapter 2 of Bulletproof! Enjoyyy.
> 
> Optional Soundtrack:  
> Track 1: [Hands Like Houses - The Definition of Not Leaving](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HoAaUbhP5IA)

* * *

 

**[Track 1]  
**

Vessel.

noun.  
  
A person who is regarded as a holder or carrier for an entity, often nonmaterial, other than what commonly exists within itself.

 

Any semblance of home is lost in her eyes, watching tears well and pour down her face in salty rivulets. Brown eyes shimmering under a film of grief, broken so harshly by the sound of music and the familiarity that comes with the mask.  
  
It breaks you, to see her break.

Until you realize that she hasn’t broken.

“You said no more TRICKS!”  
  
She drops the bag she’s been carrying. Hands ball into fists. Tremors dance through her wiry frame, but any tears that she cries are angry tears. You’re wary of her fists. Of what might come next.

And, suddenly, she’s in your face. Not for a second questioning how or why you’re here. Not questioning her own sanity, or reality, or her perception thereof. Evey lives a life without fear now. A life void of coincidence. She knows that there’s a reason you’re here.  
  
She’s just not happy about it.

And you’re not prepared. Not prepared for the way she lifts her fingers to your mask and tears it from its place on your face. Throws it to the ground.  Listens to the distant screams of silicone on hardwood--a million miles away.

Silence. Because you never expected her to see your face, and you never expected to have a face worth showing.

 

* * *

 

You’re not sure what to say. “Hey, surprised me too!”? “Plot twist!”? “I’m just as confused as you are.”?

You struggle to control rogue thoughts, make use of quavering lips. “It wasn’t a trick.”

Her eyes hover. Jump from spot to spot on your not-so-subtle form. Meet your eyes for a split second and then dance away. Losing focus. “Wasn’t a trick,” she echoes.

A cautious step forward into what might be enemy territory. “I died in your arms, Evey. And, believe me, I fully expected to stay dead. But I am but a tool in the hands of fate; and sovereign authority decided that it wasn’t my time.”

“The hell do you mean, _authority?_ I sent your body to Parliament, surrounded by explosives! And here you are, standing, in one piece.” Her words are scathing on your infantile skin. Your new mask. “A few bullets and you’re dead. An explosion and you’re alive again?”

Words fail you--a phenomenon that has been so rare throughout your life that you can only shrug and hope that your instability doesn’t bleed through the mask.  
  
She curls back into herself. Releases a string of curses. Pacing left and right, only to stop and turn back towards you, look you over, briefly confirming that yes, you are alive. That you have not disappeared in the few seconds she hadn’t been looking. Finally, she grinds to a halt. “...you’re alive.”

You manage a nod.

“What happened?”  
  
You briefly consider recounting the story to her. Telling her all about waking up in a pile of smoking debris and seeing what could only be described as an avenging angel hovering in the charged air. But it’s too painful, to see the look in her eyes, regarding you as a ghost. It’s painful to find yourself wanting to live, when you’ve lusted after death for so long. When you’ve died, and seen hell. And died again, and seen heaven. So you merely shrug, again. Lips move wordlessly and the concept that she can see them is a strange one. Fingers twitch under a layer of black fabric. You grasp half heartedly for your mask, on the floor.

She focuses in on your face. Your new face. “V...is dead, isn’t he?” she says.

You nod hesitantly. “Dead. Dead as dirt.”

And she’s right. The scars. The motives. The history. All the things that made you V are gone now. V died with parliament. V died with Peter Creedy. V died with roses in his arms and a kiss on his lips.

“So….” She folds her arms. Rubs her shoulder faintly. Glances sideways. Releases a long sigh. “Who are you?” She takes a step forward and the mask breaks under the weight of her boot. She twists her heel back and forth, as though to rub it in. Her eyes echo the question over and over in your ears.

Silence hangs over you, and you wonder when exactly your song stopped playing. You can’t remember the last note that was played. You can’t remember the last time you thought of future with life in your veins. “I don’t know,” you say.

Evey glances around the room. At the kitchen, with dirty dishes sitting in the sink, and the bathroom door, left ajar, and the crooked living room rug and the dimly set lights. For the first time in a long time, your house looks lived in.

“But I’ll need a reason to live, or this second chance will have been for nothing. V's legacy died with him. There isn’t enough left over to sustain someone new.”

“Last night, a revolution was born. But that’s not the end of the story. Now that this country has recognized that it needs to change, it’s going to need to make those changes. And that’s going to take hard work, and probably more bloodshed by the time this is all over. Because, plot twist. It’s never over. Evolution never stops. We need your help. Whoever you are.”

Her lips are on yours, and they’re warm, and it feels like home, with her arms around your waist and your back against the wall. It feels like the kiss you should have shared the night V’s vendetta was laid to rest.  
  
It feels safe. And then the screaming starts.

**Author's Note:**

> [Disclaimer: This fanwork may or may not contain spoilers and is subject to editing and improvement. Constructive criticism is appreciated.]


End file.
